


something outside me stirring

by ragnasok



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Chocolate Box Treat, Erotic Electrostimulation, M/M, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-14 09:10:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13586883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragnasok/pseuds/ragnasok
Summary: Post-Ragnarok. Thor's lightning powers have many different uses, not all of them on the battlefield.





	something outside me stirring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [days4daisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/gifts).



> I wasn't planning on writing anything for this exchange, but then I stumbled across your letter, and _damn_ , those prompts were things of beauty. This was the only thing I had time to write, but uh, I hope you like it!
> 
> Many thanks to [thorduna](http://https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorduna/pseuds/thorduna) for the beta. <3

“You’ll tell me if it gets to be too much?”

Thor probably doesn’t mean it as a question. Surely, he must know better by now. But it turns into one anyway on its way out of his mouth, his voice low and uncertain.

He’s trying to reassure himself, of course; trying to convince himself that this—of all the things that have passed between them—is not wrong. Thor has come far, and has had his eyes opened to much, in recent months, but it only seems to make him cling harder to decency, shy from his power for fear of what it might do, wielded incautiously.

Under other circumstances, Loki might find the wit to hate him for it. Here, now, he understands that failing to answer will only leave him frustrated, so, “Yes,” he lies, “of course.”

Truthfully, it is already too much. Lying here, spread open (at least, as much as the Ark’s narrow bunks will allow) beneath his brother, Thor’s breath warm against the curve of his neck, Thor’s hands hovering inches from his skin, all afire with anticipation. It’s more than he ever expected. To have loved in angry silence for so long, and to have this, now, after everything. A part of him is still waiting for the universe to rock beneath his feet and for it all to be torn away. A part of him, even now, wants him to jump to his feet and run before that can happen.

But then he feels it in the air, a static charge that makes his skin prickle, and a spark jumps from Thor’s mouth to his before Thor kisses him, soft and full to soothe the bright start of pain.

It’s an apology of a kiss, and that is not what Loki needs right now. Such things are best avoided, at least where he and Thor are concerned. So instead of kissing back he bites, drawing not blood but a startled sound from his brother. He feels the vibration of it in Thor’s chest; smells something sudden and sharp in the air, ozone and petrichor. And lightning sparks at Thor’s fingertips, and Loki can wait no longer. He reaches up and takes Thor’s right hand in his own and sucks two calloused fingers into his mouth.

It’s like ice cracking on his tongue, the cold bright shock of it filling his skull with white light. For a moment he fears it will split him apart from the inside out and he stills, heart racing.

The feeling lessens, then. Not so much an explosion; more like one of those extremely potent fizzy ice cocktails of which the Grandmaster was so fond. Loki opens his eyes and finds Thor watching him closely, pale fire swirling behind the blue of his eye.

“Loki,” he says, too tender for a reprimand. “Be _careful_.” He withdraws his fingers, brushes a strand of hair from Loki’s face, his fingers leaving behind the faintest shivery trail of sensation.

Loki glares at him. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

It’s automatic, a well-thumbed page in a script they’ve been repeating since childhood, but these days Loki means it more desperately than ever. _Don’t tell me what to do, because I’m afraid I might actually do it._

Thor only laughs at him, his eye crinkling up at the corner. There’s no mockery in it, though, and Thor takes his hand and presses a kiss that prickles like thorns to his knuckles before he encircles Loki’s wrists with his fingers and presses them to the mattress above Loki’s head.

“Let me,” he says.

It’s still a question. Loki narrows his eyes. “Fine,” he says. “That is, if you’re actually going to—oh.”

The shocks spider out from where Thor holds him down, crawling down the sensitive skin of his wrists, the undersides of his arms, his sides. Loki bites back a cry and arches up into it, every muscle straining, eyes falling closed as he rides it out.

He half-fears to see laughter—or, worse, concern—on his brother’s face when he opens them again, but it’s unfounded. That single blue eye is dark with want, focused hungrily on his face. Thor, almost as undone as he is. The sight is enough to make his breath catch in his chest, cock twitching against his belly.

“Oh,” Loki hears himself say, before he can stop it; and then, to cover it up, “Well, don’t stop.”

Thor, of course, obliges, loosening his grip on Loki’s wrists. “Stay there,” he says, just enough of a warning edge in his voice that Loki considers disobeying, pushing back just to see what will happen.

Just for a moment. But he’s still learning this new, calmer version of his brother. These days, Thor might have the patience to deny himself, just to teach Loki some kind of lesson. It might be entertaining, sometime, to see how long he would hold out.

But perhaps—a single, shivery shock runs down Loki’s spine—perhaps not tonight.

Thor caresses his cheek, brushes kisses along his collarbone, and Loki breathes out, trying to relax into the bed. It’s a long moment before the next shock comes, Thor’s fingers teasing, almost tickling, at the sides of his ribcage. This time it’s more controlled, a faint prickle over his skin, the sense of something in the air, building slowly until he’s trembling with it, nerves ablaze, sweat beading in the hollow of his throat. Then it’s gone and Thor’s hands move over his skin, warm and slow, soothing away the sting before his mind can hold onto it.

It is very nearly too much to bear. The gentleness, the soft way Thor is looking at him. He can’t push it away, though, not without pushing his brother away completely, so he only closes his eyes.

Thor lets him, perhaps also unwilling to open that particular can of worms. His touch travels lower, to the soft skin of Loki’s belly, the insides of his thighs, carefully avoiding his cock. Vulnerable places, reminding Loki just how exposed he is here—and he ought to hate it, and perhaps some part of him does, and he would not have it stop for a dozen worlds.

Each cold crackle of lightning is followed by those slow caresses, and Loki still does not protest. Before long he is dizzy with it, arching up into Thor’s touch, body taut as a bowstring, barely recognising the sounds that come from his own throat. It feels as though he’s been on this edge forever, balanced between pain and tenderness.

“Loki,” Thor says, then, before he can forget himself. His hands move away, and Loki makes a small, undignified sound of protest. “ _Loki_.” Again, more urgent now.

“What?” he says, or means to say, but his answer is in the wild-eyed, desperate way Thor is looking at him; the way Thor kisses him and clutches at his shoulders like a drowning man.

Thor needs this as badly as he does. Loki forgets that, sometimes, watching his brother play the battle-weary king, working endlessly to keep his people fed and clothed and steadily on their way to Earth. But Thor is rain and thunder, power as wild as the universe itself, however well he has learned restraint. And with no Asgard, no solid ground beneath their feet, he clings as hard as he can to anything that might keep him grounded.

Loki never thought to find himself a lightning-rod, and in his darker moments he knows that it can never last; but right now he only kisses back hard and bites again at Thor’s lower lip, and says, “Are you going to fuck me, or are you going to make me wait all night?”

He needs to stop thinking about what all this means. It won’t lead him anywhere he wants to be. At least, not tonight.

Thor sits back on his heels, where he’s settled between Loki’s legs, and tilts his head thoughtfully. He’s still gratifyingly hard, but the wild look in his eyes clears as he contemplates Loki—and when he smiles there’s an edge to it: playful, dangerous. “No,” he says. “But I might make you wait a little longer.”

Before Loki can retort, he’s being pulled down the bed, his knees hooked up over Thor’s shoulders in a single, easy movement.

“Show-off,” he sniffs, but it comes out a little breathier than he expected, and Thor laughs, a rumble deep in his chest. Then he reaches for the jar of oil that’s somewhere near the foot of the bed (the Ark, having been the Grandmaster’s property, has proven very well-stocked with certain things) and drizzles it generously over his fingers.

He pushes inside, just a little too quickly, and Loki makes a small, startled sound at the stretch, the sudden fullness. Thor draws his fingers out and then inches them deeper, curling them just so and making Loki forget the ache as they find their mark. He gasps, lost in it. No lightning now, but when Loki shuts his eyes he sees sparks all the same.

Thor’s mouth is on him, then, hot and sweet on the head of his cock, and his orgasm takes him by surprise, hips bucking up into his brother’s mouth, a moan of surprise escaping him.

When Loki comes back to himself, Thor is smirking. Honestly, Loki hasn’t the heart to begrudge his looking so pleased with himself, but for appearance’s sake he scowls anyway, “I don’t know why you’re so smug.”

Amusement sparks in Thor’s eye. “You’re not satisfied?”

“You’re capable of better.”

“Oh?” And this time there’s a spark of challenge behind the laughter. “Then let me prove myself.” He releases Loki’s legs to find the oil again, and Loki sinks back onto the pillows to watch him slick his cock. His movements are slow, deliberate; putting on a show.

Loki gets precious little time to enjoy it, however. No sooner has Thor finished than he finds himself gripped bodily by the waist and pulled into Thor’s lap. This time, it’s Loki’s turn to clutch at his brother’s shoulders for support, legs still shaky. Thor steadies him, one hand on his hip, the other reaching up to brush sweat-dampened hair from his face.

There is a moment where Thor just regards him, lips parted in something that looks like wonder, searching his face for permission, or comfort, or something, anyway. _That_ is too much, and Loki leans in to kiss him hard, impatient.

Thor seems to get the hint. He grasps Loki’s hips and lines himself up and pulls him down hard, his cock spearing Loki open. Still sensitive, Loki shudders with it and bites his lip, his nails digging into Thor’s shoulders. Thor holds him trembling there for a moment, looking into his face, and then finally, finally draws out and drives up into him.

The pace he sets is relentless and all Loki can do is hang on, a flush creeping over his skin at the slide of Thor's cock inside of him. The way the head catches at his rim when Thor almost pulls out, the shock of nerves making his body sing with the memory of those earlier shocks. How deep he feels it when Thor thrusts back in, filling him up until he feels he might crack apart. Thor has held himself back all night, careful to control the power he holds at his fingertips, but in this he finally lets go. In this he trusts Loki with something of himself--and so, for all that newfound kingly wisdom, in this he will always be a fool.

It's too much; of course it is. It all is, and it always has been. Loki does not know how he ever lived without it.

He cannot bear the thought. He runs his nails down Thor's back, drawing a hiss from his brother, and breathes, "You're still holding out on me."

Thor slows his pace, catches his breath, eyeing Loki uncertainly. "Like this?" he asks, careful again.

Loki rolls his eyes. "No, on the captain's chair, wearing a jester's hat. Yes, like this," he snaps.

Thor hesitates, and for a second Loki fears he's ruined the moment. Then he finds himself on his back, Thor's weight pressing him into the mattress, Thor's cock still buried deep in him, Thor's hands grasping his wrists as they did earlier.

"You asked for it," Thor says, and somehow it's still a question.  
Loki only nods, the urge to goad suddenly dissipated. Thor leans down and kisses him, softly, and light flares in his eye.

It is overwhelming. Loki thinks he might have cried out but he can't be sure, tensed up tight and fucked open, his whole body clenching up as the shocks flow over him, and then for a long moment he sees nothing but white.

 

* * *

 

 

When he comes back to himself, Thor is stroking his hair.

He smiles and presses a kiss to Loki's forehead when he opens his eyes, sliding carefully out of him. Loki wrinkles his nose at the sensation of Thor's spend leaking from his body, pushing at his brother's chest. "Find a towel."

Thor does as he's bid, watching Loki over his shoulder. For a moment Loki fears Thor is about to ask him if he's alright—but apparently Thor is learning, for he only lifts an eyebrow and says, "That felt… intense."

"Don't congratulate yourself too hard," Loki says. He considers sitting up, then changes his mind when his arms refuse to hold him.

To his credit, Thor only laughs a little. Loki makes a mental note to magic frogs inside his boots tomorrow, anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

Loki's drifting, half-asleep, when he feels it, a faint prickle of static at the top of his skull. He blinks and starts awake, glancing around the room for the source of the strange sensation.

He finds only Thor, his hand held palm-down a few inches above Loki's head to make his hair stand up, a look like that of a guilty child on his face. Loki huffs and slaps his hand away.

"Go to sleep," he says.

Thor settles down beside him, but his expression turns momentarily serious. "If you won't slip away the moment I do."

"Trying to extract promises from me, brother?" Loki says. "You ought to know better."

"Probably," Thor agrees, but reaches for him anyway. And in the morning, against all his better judgement, Loki has not moved.


End file.
